What is Real?
by Morganeth Taren'drel
Summary: the demons of the mind can be just as threatening as those faced in reality. with one attachment, can you be sure you're awake?


**AN**: I hope you enjoy. This short story was a bid to keep myself writing, when I'd hit a wall. So I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, but Adaon has been encouraging me to share my works. This would be yet another Hurt/Comfort fic for Dean…yes I seem to enjoy hurting him, I think it comes down to the fact that he's just such a strong character.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters from Supernatural

**What is Real?**

Dean tried to open his eyes but found a sticky substance was gluing them shut; a groan escaped him as he reached a hand up to his head. The world was a dark blur, leaving him dazed and confused. It took Dean several minutes just to get his bearings, he was half lying half propped against a wall, and there was rubble all around him burying him from the waist down. Dean pulled in a few dust filled breathes his lungs protested instantly leaving his entire body aching, but at least feeling was returning to him.

Clearing his throat as best he could Dean called out in a rough voice, "Sam?" he heard the name echo around the dark surroundings, but caught nothing in reply.

"Sammy?" he tired again, attempting to shift position with little success.

Dean let his head fall back against the wall, heavy lids drooping closed as he tried to remember how this had happened. But his mind proved a blank wall, he knew the memories were there, but he just couldn't reach them. The best he could do was piece together that they'd been on a hunt, but that in itself was no real feat what else did they do besides hunt?

Opening his eyes again Dean made a quick scan of his surroundings; the air was cool and damp meaning he was more than likely underground. From that it didn't take much to deduce that he'd fallen through the floor above. However looking up, Dean's hazel eyes were only met with more blackness, which his concussed brain was having trouble making sense of.

Shrugging his shoulder Dean bit back on the pain as the rubble slowly shifted off his right arm. For several long minutes the pain only increased as Dean continued to work his arm free. But it subsided to a dull ache when he finally brought his hand to face. Dean took a moment to try and rub the blood away from his eyes so he could see a little more of the dark cellar.

It didn't take him as long to free his left arm, and the first thing he did was reach for his watch pressing the button to illuminate the face. 1:00 AM it read clearly through the dust and dirt. Dean tried to remember the last time he'd checked his watch during the hunt; he had a feeling they'd started a midnight but had no way to be sure.

Dean rubbed at the side of his aching head, it hurt to think but he needed to remember what had happened before he lost consciousness. He needed to know that Sam was alright, wherever he was. _Cellphone__!_ he thought immediately and quickly turned his attention to his waist trying to remove most of the rubble so he could reach the small device in his pocket.

Hands shaking from the exertion Dean's fingers finally touched the phone and pulled it free. He slid it open with his thumb hazel eyes working to focus on the glowing screen. A rough cough escaped Dean as his head fell back against the wall _No signal..._ he thought darkly but knew he shouldn't be surprised. Little was making sense to him; Dean knew none of it really mattered. He had no supplies, no means of communication, he was injured and trapped but sitting here wasn't going to solve anything.

Turning the cell around in his hand Dean shone the light around the room, the near blackness lighting up surprisingly well with the screen's glow. Unfortunately there was nothing really to see besides four walls and a lot of debris. Placing the cellphone aside the hunter began moving the chunks of debris from his legs; he was forced to rest more than once due to the pain of moving.

He took one of these breaks to look himself over as best he could, he was bruised badly, had several lacerations, but he didn't think any bones were broken. Though with the way his chest was screaming at him Dean thought more than likely he'd cracked a rib or two. Besides all that it seemed his only real concern was the concussion.

The silence was broken unexpectedly by the sound of Back in Black, without really considering his actions Dean reached automatically for his cellphone. "Hello?" he asked into it voice a dry rasp.

"Dean? Is that you?" Sam's voice asked, heavy with concern.

"Who else would it be?" the older Winchester tossed back letting his eyes fall closed as a wave of relief washed over him at the sound of his brother's voice.

"Damnit what the hell happened?!" Sam demanded his tone rising.

Dean held the phone away from his ear, "I was hoping you'd tell me..."

"Can you at least tell me where you are?"

"Below you, I'd imagine..." he responded cracking open an eye which he directed to the ceiling. "I think I fell through the floor...but I can't see where," Dean pressed a hand to his throbbing head. "Or remember how..." he added.

"Are you hurt?" Sam pressed for more information.

"Yeah..."

Static interrupted the line for a moment, "I'm going to come and get you," Sam's voice came through, sounding odd to Dean's ear.

In the back of his concussed mind Dean felt a warning go off, and without really understanding why Dean moved the cell so his eyes could see it. No lights were on, his thumb pressed on of the buttons causing the screen to light up but there was still no signal. No sign that the cell was in the middle of a call at all.

"Dean?" the voice called, "You still there?"

"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.

"You must have cracked your head good," his brother's voice seemed to chuckle, "It's me Sam."

"No it isn't," Dean said more to himself, feeling adrenalin kick into his system a welcomed sensation considering his current condition. "I have no signal down here," he told himself as much as the cell, placing the phone aside.

Distance didn't seem to impede whatever it was from talking to him, "You're more oriented than I thought," the voice was still disturbingly that of his brother's.

Dean's eyes scanned the room in vein, "What the hell are you?!" he demanded trying to reach around to the small of his back to see if his 9mm was still there.

"I'd thought that would be obvious, it's me Sam..." the voice coxed. Somehow it still seemed to come from the phone, but he was positive tossing it across the room or smashing it wouldn't stop the voice.

"Like hell you are," Dean growled fingers finding the familiar touch of his gun. He bit down on his lip to keep himself from crying out in pain as he twisted to pull the weapon free. Somehow he doubted it would be of much use but all the same it felt better to be holding it. "Where am I? And what have you done to Sam?"

"I am Sam," the voice insisted.

"I believe that as much as I believe dad's still alive," the older Winchester shot back with a shake of his head. It was an action Dean immediately regretted when it sent his vision swimming and his stomach lurching. Doubling over to his left Dean couldn't swallow back the nausea that washed over him, as his stomach emptied its contents onto the floor.

"Dean, you've got to hang on!" the voice pleaded sounding far too close for Dean's own comfort.

Pulling himself away Dean opened his eyes glancing sharply around the room, "Where are you?" he demanded raising the gun in a shaking hand. He couldn't see much of anything around him, but Dean could sense the presence hiding near him.

From out of the shadows appeared a figure cloaked in a darkness separated from the rest as Dean could clearly make out the shape. Drawing a breath Dean steadied his gun as best he could the energy draining from him. "You wouldn't shoot your own brother," the shape continued to solidify taking on the distinct appearance of Sam.

"You're right, I wouldn't..." he ground out, "But you're not Sam."

"Dean! You're hallucinating, put the gun down!" the voice sounded panicked and more like his little brother than it had a moment before.

Pain filled Dean's mind as he fought to keep his head clear, but he knew it was a loosing battle. He wasn't out yet, a dry smirk touched Dean's lips, "I probably am," he admitted not lowering the weapon, "But that doesn't change the fact that you're not Sam."

Sam's face was clear to Dean's tired eyes appearing illuminated against the darkness. "Look at me Dean, who else could I be?" the creature pleaded using Sam's voice.

Dean found himself pressing the barrel of his gun into _Sam's_ forehead, "Not who, but definitely a what," his eyes narrowed.

"Dean we need to get you to a hospital, you're not making any sense."

"I'm not? Tell me how you got down here? What exactly happened?" Dean chanced a quick glance above him still seeing nothing beyond deeper blackness.

"What does that matter right now? You could die if we don't get you out of here," the tone was worried, but Dean didn't miss the undercurrent which sent the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

The hunter's eyes narrowed as the blood pounded through Dean's head his eyes fighting to keep focus. "Wouldn't want that..." he drawled tiredly, "less for you to feed on?"

Brown eyes flashed to solid black it was only a split second, but Dean was sure he'd seen it. His finger tightened on the trigger, and the demon backed off a fraction. "Could you really shoot your own brother?" the voice was so deeply Sam's it hurt.

What little strength Dean had left was starting to fade, the adrenalin not near enough to keep his damaged body alert. Dean pulled in a breath just before firing the gun, the sound was deafening as it echoed against the walls. The creature fell away from Dean clutching its shoulder; Dean told himself it was the tremble of his hand not fear that this might actually be Sam.

The room appeared to close in around Dean, the temperature dropping rapidly to the point where Dean could see his panting breaths puff out before him. Blinking quickly Dean tried to catch sight of the creature he'd shot but he couldn't see anything beyond the blackness. The pain in his body was being overcome by numbness as the air around him grew colder.

The temperature didn't stop the lance of pain shooting through Dean's head; he cried out but couldn't hear his own voice. Dean felt like he was falling, but couldn't see a bloody thing around him.

The impacted was sudden; his body jumping against the floor instincts taking over screaming at him that it was time to fight.

"Whoa! Easy Dean!" Sam's voice broke through the silence, but did little to relax Dean.

Body tense against restraining arms, Dean forced his eyes to open. Though they were blurred he could see the dimly lit hotel room from his position on the bed. "What the hell?" the question was barely above a horse whisper.

"Dean relax," Sam coxed, his voice drawing Dean's eyes. He stared at Sam intently but couldn't get his body to relax. "You've been unconscious for the past day and a half," Sam began to explain speaking softly. "You've been running a fever for most of that," his brother continued as he sat on the edge of the bed keeping both hands firmly on Dean's shoulders.

"Hallucinating..." Dean breathed head falling back against the pillow.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Dean drew a few steady breaths, his mind and body continuing to wake. Dean could see more of the room around him, it looked like most hotel rooms he and Sam had stayed in over the years, only one lamp illuminating the space. Dean reached a hand up to his head the ache from before returning, "Didn't happen to fall through a floor...did I?"

Sam breathed a clear sigh of relief, "Yeah."

"How bad?" he asked trying to get a look at himself.

"Serious concussion, three cracked ribs, your knee's pretty banged up..." a faint smile flickered on Sam's face, "You've been worse."

The older Winchester finally let his body relax, hazel eyes watching Sam, seconds ticked by slowly leaving Dean feeling more awake, and sure that this was in fact real. He winced as the pain increased, opening his eyes again only to find that Sam had been watching him just as intently. Dean accepted the painkiller offered to him, and drank a few mouthfuls from the bottle of water.

"Do you remember anything else?" Sam asked a moment later.

"I don't even really remember falling through the floor," Dean admitted trying to pull himself up a little, but Sam reached out to stop him.

"You should be in the hospital."

"A little surprised I'm not," he admitted settling himself.

Sam pressed the bottle of water on Dean again, "Had to take off, we were attracting too much attention from local PD."

"Huh..." Dean grunted a flash of memory lighting at the back of his mind, "Was I awake for that?"

"Sort of," his younger brother smirked, and Dean could see just how tired Sam was.

"Where are we now?"

"One state over," Sam informed pulling a hand through his shaggy hair, "Try and get some sleep."

That wasn't really an appealing thought, despite the fact that the pain was beginning to fade. "We should keep moving," he countered shifting again.

"Not a chance, just rest," Sam insisted, "There's a clinic not far from here; I'll take you there tomorrow."

"...Yay..." Dean replied dryly, but didn't let his eyes fall closed. He wasn't afraid of the fevered hallucination, he'd actually lived through worse moments, but his body didn't want to sleep again just yet. Hazel eyes followed Sam around the room, until his brother took a seat behind his laptop. "What are you working on?"

Sam looked up, his expression disapproving for a moment before he looked back to the screen, "The usual." Sam continued to watch Dean from the corner of his eye, "What did you see?"

Dean was silent for a moment, "Nothing I haven't seen before," he replied honestly the memories already beginning to fade.

"Seriously Dean, you look like hell."

A dry laugh escaped him, "Thanks Sammy."

His brother nodded, "Least I can do."

Thanks for Reading!

Morganeth Taren'drel


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